


A Beneficial Arrangement

by trillingstar



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Authority Figures, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: kink_bingo, Daddy Kink, Episode Related, Explicit Language, Humiliation, M/M, Non Consensual, Pre-Canon, Prison, Prison Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-15
Updated: 2010-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No prag of his is going to wander around looking like a goddamn hobo, and Vern knows better than to let a sweet young piece like Chris Keller out without a shiv in his pocket.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beneficial Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Written for "authority figures" square on kink_bingo. There are all kinds of kinks in this story. Look: it's Oz. It's prison. There are prags, and there are owners. Canon-based pre-canon and S6 canon (a few lines of dialogue lifted from Junkyard Dawgs). For those unfamiliar with canon, Keller is 17 and Schillinger is in his late twenties/early thirties when they first meet in Lardner.
> 
> Thank you to [Ozsaur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur) for the inspiration, and for the read-through.  
> 

  
Officer Werner leans on the bars of Vern's cell. "You should keep better track of your boy," he says casually, the heel of his hand resting on the billyclub jammed into his belt.

Tossing his magazine aside, Vern rolls off the top bunk, landing hard on the concrete floor. He narrows his eyes at Werner. "The fuck's he up to now." And what's Werner going to want for this information? He's tight with the Brotherhood, but that doesn't mean it's free.

Werner looks at him steadily. "Little birdie said try the showers."

"Fuckin' niggers," Vern spits out. "Always up to something." He raises an eyebrow, nods at the keys in Werner's hand.

"I'll come with you," Werner says. "And I want his mouth."

He needs to get this situation under control, now, so Vern says, "Done," and then they're striding down the dingy hall. Vern makes eye contact with Jeffers, who's in the last cell on the left, and gestures for him to call a meeting.

~

Vern works hard not to shove people out of his way; he's spoiling for a fight, anger flowing hot and rich through his veins. He thinks Werner would let him get in a few punches, so it's a let-down when they find Keller alone, huddled in the corner of the shower stall furthest away from the door. The shower's still running, and there are puddles on the tiled floor turned pink from blood running from a cut on Keller's forearm. He's soaking wet and partially dressed, t-shirt ripped open down the back as though someone had grabbed him from behind, and his pants are pushed down, past the curve of his butt. There are bruises on his face and stomach, a smear of fresh blood oozing from the scrape on his neck, and he'll have a pretty shiner come morning. In short, he looks like shit.

He's also holding a shank, fingers curled loosely around the handle.

"You alive?" Vern asks. Goddammit, he's going to take so much heat for this, and the buck's not going to stop at Vern.

"Fuck off," Keller grunts reflexively.

Werner kicks the shank from Keller's hand and Keller's eyes finally flutter open. He looks dazed and angry, and Vern's head fills up with maddening thoughts that some dumb nigger touched his prag and that he can see the knobs of Keller's hipbones and the wet, pale lengths of his thighs.

Vern nudges Keller's calf with the tip of his boot, then crouches down and grabs Keller's jaw, putting pressure on one side until Keller turns and meets his stare. "Who was it?"

Keller's eyes gloss over and Vern watches him control a tiny shake. He takes a few quick breaths. "I don't know," he replies.

Vern's lips peel back in disgust.

Werner turns the shower off and skirts a puddle. "Hey, asshole!" He barks out, bending over. "C'mon, kneel up. Anything broken?"

Letting go of Keller, Vern leans back, watching as Werner shoves Keller around, checking him for injury, and then gets him up on his knees. The clothes are a lost cause, and Keller will need a new shank - Werner's friendly, but he'll confiscate the knife. Hopefully there are still some credits left in Keller's account, otherwise Vern'll have to work something out in trade. No prag of his is going to wander around looking like a goddamn hobo, and Vern knows better than to let a sweet young piece like Chris Keller out without a shiv in his pocket. Usually the threat of getting sliced up combined with the backing of the Brotherhood works, but obviously it wasn't enough this time, and Vern's gonna have the ass of whoever it was strung up and quartered.

Vern snaps back to the matter at hand when Keller groans pathetically. Werner's pants are unzipped and he's pulling out his dick, one hand on Keller's shoulder.

"For Christ's sake," Vern says. "Can't you wait until he's cleaned up?"

Werner ignores him. Keller huffs out a tiny sigh of resignation when he opens his mouth, and then he flicks his gaze over to Vern, helplessness in his eyes. Vern stares back stonily; he's just a fucking prag, and Vern already made the deal. Spinning around, Vern grabs someone's abandoned towel from the bar and stalks over to the sink. It takes a long time for the water to run cold, then he soaks half of the towel, wrings it out and soaks it again, waiting for the tell-tale jingle of Werner refastening his utility belt.

~

It's a walk of shame back to their cell, reflecting poorly on both of them: the prag is always to blame, but the owner shoulders some responsibility, and it pisses Vern off that some dumb-ass jungle bunny found his way to Keller. It's even worse that Keller's been roughed up. It makes them both look weak. One of Keller's eyes is starting to close up, puffy and dark, and it's the first time that Vern can remember where Keller's walk doesn't even come close to being a strut.

Keller's gotten cornered before, he's been in fights, even needed stitches and a stay in the infirmary for a stab wound, but every time he's walked down the hallway to their cell, it's with a swagger and a sly grin. This time it's clearly Vern's fault that Keller isn't shaking it off, proving that nothing's gonna drag him down.

First thing he has to do is fuck Keller senseless, remind him of who the fuck's in charge around here. Get the stench of dirty, barbaric _apes_ off his boy. And then he's going to attend a meeting, where he'll say something about how those black savages need to be taught a lesson. It's not because of Keller, specifically. Niggers could always stand to learn a thing or two about respect.

~

Keller's changed his clothes, washed his face and brushed his teeth, and his expression is his normal one, the one that Vern's used to. He asks anyway.

"I'm fuckin' fine, okay?" Keller glares at Vern, who raises his hands in mock-surrender. Keller clenches his jaw as if he's holding back a longer rant.

"Okay, jeez, blame a guy for caring," Vern says sarcastically.

Keller doesn't take the bait, though he's not quick enough to hide the emotion that flits across his face, easily translated: _the fuck you do_.

The bell clangs, and Vern makes sure that Keller's at the center of the pack when the Brotherhood exits the cellblock, and he pretends he doesn't see the wink that Werner sends their way.

Throughout dinner, Keller picks at his food, so Vern orders some new girly prag back into line for more cartons of juice. Vern doesn't smile when Keller's thigh presses close against his under the table, but he wants to, so he sits like that until it's time to leave. It's always nice to be appreciated.

~

Keller's on his back, because sometimes Vern likes looking at his face when they're fucking, and even now, with one of Keller's eyes swollen shut and a nasty scrape down one cheek, Vern likes the view. He likes the way that Keller's lips tighten for a fraction of a moment every single time that Vern calls him prag, or from the countless times he's told Keller that getting fucked on his back like a woman makes him Vern's bitch. His boy. He shoves in hard, no finesse, because it's no secret that the only one who matters when they fuck is Vern.

Vern grasps Keller's sides, thumbs resting on two similarly shaped bruises on either side of Keller's ribcage, like he took two punches simultaneously. Vern presses his thumbs in harder where the skin's purpling, and finally Keller hisses in pain. A moment later, he's whimpering while Vern thrusts in just right, hips tilting up, and then he grunts again when Vern tightens his grip, holding him down.

"That hurts," he grinds out, staring up at Vern, defiance in his eyes that doesn't reach the tone of his voice.

"You can take it," Vern says.

Keller's lip trembles and Vern groans in excitement.

"You can," he repeats, encouraging but firm.

"Okay," Keller says, and his acquiescence thrills Vern; he pushes in faster, going down on his elbows for leverage. He's nose to shoulder with Keller and then Keller says, contentedly, "Okay, Daddy."

Vern rears back, knowing there's shock etched across his face, but Keller only looks at him with big eyes, his body open and relaxed. Vern loses his rhythm, hips jerking sharply once, twice. Keller sucks in his bottom lip and Vern trembles all over; Keller's still watching him, moving his hips up entreatingly, and Vern growls, a deep sound straight from his chest.

"Say it again," he orders.

Keller blinks, twice, slowly. "What, _Dad_-dy?" he asks coyly. He tilts his head to the side and studies Vern with his good eye. "Daddy," he whispers, tongue swiping over his lower lip.

Vern's unprepared for the full-on shudder that rolls down his spine, but lets his body curve with it. He wraps one arm around Keller's leg and pushes, leaning forward, and plants his other hand on Keller's chest, grinding the heel of his hand against Keller's nipple.

He's moving faster now, uncaring of Keller's injuries; he can't decide whether to squeeze his eyes shut and ride out the pleasure or stare directly at Keller, at his wide eyes and wet lips. He ends up doing both, hot pink flashes behind his eyelids, then Keller says, conspiratorially, "They didn't get me, Daddy, I saved it for you," and Vern's eyes pop open and sweat pinpricks across his back.

"Fuck," he moans. "Holy- fuck." He's panting, loudly, uncaring who's listening or watching, knowing it's dangerous, but he can't maintain his usual near-silence. He only fucks Keller to get off, he's just a hole, but Christ, Jesus Christ, somehow it's more, and how the fuck did they get here.

Sliding his arms down around Keller's knees, Vern tucks Keller's legs flush with his own torso, leaving Keller's feet around Vern's ears. Wrapping his arms around Keller's calves, he holds tight, pounding into Keller, and he's so close. He squeezes his arms around Keller's legs, bending backwards, the muscles in Vern's thighs aching with the extra inch of leverage. Keller wriggles underneath him, and Vern pushes forward, hard, folding Keller's legs up over his body and rutting into him.

"Feels good, good, yeah," Keller chants between thrusts, and then he moans Vern's name.

Vern comes like someone's wringing it out of him, eyes clenched shut against tears of relief, as though he hadn't emptied himself into Keller's mouth only this morning. He thrusts in again, deep, for several long, beautiful seconds of all-encompassing pleasure. Everything blurs for a few minutes, and he's surprised when his arms wobble from exertion as he's pulling himself up into the top bunk.

~

Chris waits until he hears Vern snoring, and then he gets himself upright and lurches over to the sink. He uses plenty of soap to wash out the cuts and scrapes, ignoring the trail of semen on his inner thighs. He stares into the mirror, starts to smile at his reflection, hesitating when it pulls at the tight skin of his black eye, and then forces his mouth into a grin despite the pain. It's worth it. It was all worth it.

He'd gotten Jimirez to deliver the punches; Chris paid him with twenty-five bucks and Vern's least favorite copy of Playboy, so he shouldn't miss it right away. Jimirez gets out tomorrow anyway, and Chris will continue to pretend that he doesn't know who it was until someone really pisses him off, and then maybe he'll drop a few hints to his Daddy.

Chris chuckles softly, careful not to disturb Vern, even though after that mammoth nut-buster, Chris'll be surprised if Vern makes it up for count.

The Daddy thing - well, that surprised him too. But he's been forced to listen to Vern drone on about his own bundle of joy, going on three years old, how little Hank was the apple of his white supremacist father's eye, how Vern was gonna make the world safer by taking a bat to every black guy who breathed near them. Jesus Christ. Anyway, it wasn't so far a stretch to think that maybe Vern might get off on a little neediness from his prag, the taste of extra responsibility. Chris loves it when he's right.

Without even realizing why, Vern'll be extra careful not to let anything happen to Chris now, and he'll get his back up faster and more often whenever someone wants Chris's mouth, his ass. Vern will get possessive; there was a look on his face right after he came that was practically tender.

So, let Vern think that he's in charge, let him believe that Chris needs taking care of, make his world start to revolve around keeping Chris safe, and Chris will act the part of dutiful prag: doing laundry, fetching trays, sucking cock and bending over for Vern. No sweat. After all, he'd picked Vern out of the crowd during the first week, and by the third he was sleeping in the bottom bunk with Vern sawing logs above him. And after a couple of months of feeding Vern's little fantasy life, Chris'll be the one in charge. Just gotta be patient. Hell, he needs to work on that virtue anyway.

~

They're standing in the stairwell outside of the gym, and Vern's eager to know how the meeting with Beecher went down. Chris gives him the truth, mostly, leaning in close and smiling with predatory intent. "Motherfucker doesn't know what to believe," he says quietly, and they share a chuckle. "I'll fill in the rest as we go along. He's so proud of his tears? We'll give him something to cry about."

Vern makes a noise of agreement and starts to move away; Chris slides his fingers around Vern's wrist and tugs, his other hand clutching at the back of Vern's neck, pulling him close.

"Hey," Chris says, and then he kisses Vern on the lips, lingering at the end for a couple of seconds, and then squeezes Vern's neck briefly, as if he needs reassurance. "Love you, Daddy," he whispers, then turns away immediately, catching only a glimpse of the stunned expression on Vern's face.

Vern should know better than to think that a sweet piece of ass like Chris Keller walks around without any weapons like a shiv in his pocket or the power of a few well-placed words. The thought makes him grin, and he makes sure to use his most confident swagger when he walks away.

_Motherfucker doesn't know what to believe._ Works both ways, Vern.  



End file.
